


Relapse

by sierraraeck



Series: Aundreya Chambers [8]
Category: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Genre: Angst, Aundreya Chambers, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Kissing, Light Angst, Original Female Character - Freeform, POV Original Female Character, Slow Burn, Spencer Reid - Freeform, Spencer Reid Angst, Spencer Reid Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:35:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29185629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sierraraeck/pseuds/sierraraeck
Summary: Series Summary: This is a series following Aundreya Chambers and her experience with the BAU, Spencer, and trying to navigate the FBI as a high-profile criminal. And things get very messy.Chapter Summary: She suspects that Spencer is having some trouble in light of recent events and plans on confronting him about it, be he beats her to it. They’re able to work it out. Story eight.
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Original Female Character(s)
Series: Aundreya Chambers [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2130924
Kudos: 1





	Relapse

I didn’t think it was a big deal at first. Things had calmed down since finding Morgan’s cousin and were pretty much back to normal. I was still dancing, but I couldn’t bring myself to do private showings. I tried, but everytime I walked into that room, my scar started burning and my head started spinning. I had to walk out. Once I did, I was fine. It pissed me off because privates made up half of my earnings, and I even made it through a whole private one time, but immediately after had a panic attack. I didn’t even know that was what was happening until JoJo told me that was most likely it. So I just decided to stay in the main room for a while until this phase or whatever wore off.

The other thing I noticed that wasn’t completely right either was Spencer. He was … different. I don’t exactly know. He was talking to me less, coming over to my apartment to read less, and was kinda drawing into himself more. He had moments throughout the day where he’d press his palm into his eye and had trouble focusing. I asked him about it, Derek asked him about it, _everyone_ asked him about it, but all he kept saying was that he was fine. ‘I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.’ It was so frustrating. He was more irritable for a time, and then things changed.

Then, he _actually_ seemed fine. He seemed _better_ than fine. He still had headache-y moments, and was still more withdrawn, but he seemed … better? I don’t know. Spencer could usually keep his head on straight, but his emotions the past few months were very touchy. He had more pep in his step one moment, then the next he was the human equivalent of a snapping turtle. His mood swings were giving me whiplash. 

I don’t know how I didn’t pick up on it sooner, probably because I was so worried about my minor strokes at the clubs, but he displayed all sorts of drug user signs. Withdrawing from people close to them, showing less interest in hobbies they enjoyed, having ‘less time’ for things, making weird calls, being moody, being late, headaches. It was all there. And since he refused to talk to us or tell us about it, I decided to follow him.

I know. _I know._ I was disrespecting his privacy and I shouldn’t have done it but I did. I was worried about him. Plus, the last private thing he told me about his life before all this weirdness popped up was that his mother was getting worse. That would definitely push someone over the edge.

So I followed him. 

Come to find out the good doctor wasn’t as good as he claimed to be. When he got home from work, he just sat on the couch reading for a while. Then, he got in his car and drove a few blocks over to a payphone (I didn’t really know those still existed). He waited until exactly 9:15 to dial the number. He then hung up, and waited for a call to come in. When it did, he answered it so fast I’d have guessed his life depended on it. But that _is_ how drug addicts act. I’d know. He stood there and talked for an _hour_ , having to put four more quarters into the machine. That’s when I got confused. If it was a drug dealer, it’d make sense that he would call them from a payphone. But talk to them for an hour? Definitely not. However, his following actions still pointed to a drug dealer. When the call ended, he got into his car and drove to another street corner near a small apartment complex. He walked around to the back so I couldn’t see what he was doing. He got back into his car less than two minutes later, a reasonable time for an exchange, and drove home. It was about 10:30 when he got back home, and he closed the curtains and shut off the lights. Sure, he could have been going to bed, but considering he had some form of insomnia and people high on drugs don’t necessarily like bright lights or being peered in on… That’s all I was saying. 

While I had a plausible working theory, I didn’t just want to come out and accuse him of being on drugs. I decided that I’d give it a few days and I would observe his every move. I also decided I’d continue my spying for those few days just to see if he would continue to call someone on a payphone and meet them behind an apartment complex. 

Unfortunately, all of his actions within the remainder of the week just confirmed my theory. _Dammit Reid. What have you gotten yourself into?_

I decided I’d confront him about it in the morning. For the time being, I had more work to do. I went to the Camelot, avoided doing any private showings, and then returned home. I was caught completely off guard when I saw Spencer leaning up against my apartment door. 

“Hey, what are you doing here?” I tried to sound as casual and cheery as possible.

“I could ask you the same.”

“I live here,” I pointed out.

“So why are you just now getting home? It’s 2 am,” he said. 

“What are you getting at?” I asked. “We’ve known each other long enough to not have to tiptoe around each other.”

“Out for another walk?”

“Yep,” I said, not even trying to hide it anymore. It didn’t matter that I’d already changed back into normal clothes, he saw right through me. He had since the moment we had that case involving Morgan’s cousin.

“How did you really know Cindi?” he said in that eerily soft, but hella intense tone. Even though I had just told him to stop playing games and get to the point, he was trying to force this out of me. I didn’t want him to have the satisfaction.

“I told you. I recognized her picture.”

“See, that doesn’t make sense. You also said that you had previous dance experience from before prison, which I don’t doubt, but she seemed like she recognized you. She would have only been on the streets within the last few months. How could that be possible?” He was starting to get smug, but I was going to make him work for it.

“I don’t know. A lot of people on the streets recognize me.” 

“No that wasn’t it. She _knew_ you and Emily told me that the two girls at the club knew you, too. They even hugged you!”

“Oh, so now Emily’s involved?” He was infuriating and my tone told him so. 

He sighed. “That’s not the point. The _point_ is that you are struggling and aren’t asking for help.”

“We’ve been over this. I told Hotch all of this already and-”

“Just tell me why you’re doing it.”

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Please don’t lie to me,” he pleaded. His voice abruptly changed from confident to begging. 

It was no use trying to get this around him, so I gave in. “Old habits die hard. And I need the money. They’re basically using me as a volunteer at the bureau and I’ve got to survive somehow.”

“Let me help you.”

“I’m okay,” I said, attempting to slip past him to my door. “Plus, you need to help yourself.”

He bypassed my last comment. “What about the drugs?”

I whipped my head to look at him. _How did he know about that? I could see how he figured out the dancing, sure, but I knew how to hide a drug problem._

“What?” I asked, stunned.

“What about the drugs,” he repeated. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said. Before I could turn back to my door and fully get the key in the lock, he grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me to face him. His firm grip pushed me up against the door and held me there. Being so close to him made the four inches he had on me very evident. 

“What are you doing?” I whispered, my voice stern. I was surprised by his actions, to say the least, but I wasn’t going to let myself be rendered useless.

“Tell me the truth,” he replied, his voice deeper than I’d ever heard it. I’d never seen him like this, and I hated to admit it, especially because that shouldn’t have been my focus, but I liked it. It was exciting. He leaned forward, staring intensely into my eyes, daring me to lie to him. 

The attraction I’d felt for him had been growing since the day we met. The more I got to know him, the more the foreign feelings started to take over. I couldn’t stop myself as I closed the gap between us, electricity coursing through my body. I pressed my lips lightly against his, testing the waters. I don’t know if it was the shock or him melting into the kiss that lessened his grip on me. It didn’t matter. The moment he did, I moved my hands slowly up his arms, feeling each individual muscle move against my fingertips. I reached the top of his shoulders, then his upper back, and out of habit, I checked for twitching. There wasn’t any, which made me smile into him, but there was a different type of movement. His shoulder blades pinched, repositioning his hands to have one resting on my cheek and the other supporting the small of my back. My hands continued their path, tracing patterns on the back of his neck before reaching their final destination. The cold metal of the bracelets on my wrist sent a shudder down his spine before I wove my fingers through his hair, toying with the loose curls I found there. The hand on my cheek slid back into my own hair, pushing it behind my ear and simultaneously grabbing as much of it as possible. I had been repressing this desire for so long, it was nice to finally release it. I deepened the kiss, which his tongue happily allowed, and refused to come up for air. He didn’t, however, letting a slight gasp fall from his lips as he pulled away. I looked up into his eyes, feeling almost proud. I could tell he was fighting the urge to smile as he got right back to business, as if that didn’t just happen.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

I shook my head, breathless. “No. I didn’t.” I leaned toward him again, pulling him closer to me, my hands still entwined in his hair. I left an open-mouthed kiss on his earlobe before whispering, “But what about you? I know you haven’t exactly been the _good_ doctor you usually are.”

He pulled back to look at me, our noses practically touching, confusion in his eyes. It took effort to let him respond and to not just interrupt him with another kiss. 

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about _your_ drugs.” I licked my lips. Just like that, he reverted right back to being confrontational, removing his hands from my body. I reluctantly let go of my grip on his hair.

Instead of trying to deny it, he asked, “How did you know that?”

His voice was a low growl, so I matched it when I responded, “Do you know who you’re talking to?”

“So you followed me?”

“I was worried.”

“There are a lot better ways to show that.”

“Since when have ever I done a good job expressing my emotions?” I arched an eyebrow. 

“Never.”

“Exactly. Plus, I don’t think you’re one to judge considering it definitely took an extra effort to put all the pieces together in my life and come present them to me at 2 am.”

“That’s true.” We stood there staring at each other for a while, both contemplating if we should just let our problems be implied, or if we should actually talk about them. 

“Well, if you don’t plan on leaving or getting any sleep, would you like to come in?” I asked. He nodded. The key was still in the door from when I tried to open it earlier. I’m glad I didn’t succeed in that quest until now. 

We entered my apartment and he took a seat on the couch. I was right behind him, pausing to take off the bracelets and rings and tuck them into the nearest drawer.

“Why are you taking those off?”

It was an unexpected question, and I was sort of surprised he noticed my quick movements. “Just not feeling them anymore.”

“But you are hiding them. You are putting them in the nearest drawer you can find, and based off of how silently you tried to walk, following _me_ into _your_ apartment, you want them off and fast. Why?” 

Those metal chains had been a part of my identity for a long time. They were how people identified me, and at some points, even how I identified myself. That crazy, badass bitch who earned all of those and is somehow still alive to tell the tale. “I guess it’s because they are a part of a different me. They show who I used to be, and that’s never who I wanted to be around you guys. I didn’t want to end up being the street rat criminal you were all forced to work with. I wanted to be better than that this time around. On the _other_ side of good and bad. Somehow, I feel like I can be _more_ without them. _You_ make me feel like I’m more.” It was the most honest thing I’d said or done all week.

“ _Me?_ ”

“Yes. You.”

“You don’t have to change for me, for _us_. It’s okay if-” he started. It was a sweet sentiment, but not what I was trying to say.

“No, I know,” I cut him off, “I know I don’t _have_ to, but I _want_ to. You make me better. You guys make me _want_ to be better. That’s sorta why I was hoping none of you would figure out what I’ve really been doing all these nights.”

“So you are still dancing,” he said it like it wasn’t a question. I guess it wasn’t.

“Yeah,” I confirmed. 

“And you’re still on drugs.”

“Yeah. How did you know?”

“I know you. You’ve been acting differently ever since the Cindi case.”

 _I know you._ I tried not to let it get to my head.

“Likewise. You’re on drugs, too.”

“Yeah. Your turn. How’d you know?”

“I saw you getting them from someone behind an old apartment complex. You seem pretty friendly,” I added.

“What makes you say that?”

“You talked to them on the phone for quite some time prior.”

His eyes went wide. “What are you talking about?”

“I thought we had just silently agreed to be honest. I saw you talking on that payphone for like an hour prior to meeting your dealer.” _Unless that wasn’t your dealer on the phone. But who else could it be?_

“Oh. That.” 

“Why are you being weird about it?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are. Tell me why,” I demanded.

“It’s nothing. Just a problem with the meeting place,” he stated. I let it slide.

“What drug?”

“Dilaudid,” he tilted his head at me, his way of asking me the same. 

“Coc and heroin.”

“ _Both_?”

“Unfortunately,” I said and it was unfortunate. I’d been sober for so long, but I made an impulse decision to be helpful, which of course ended up being hurtful. But it’s me so of course there’s always a price to pay. When isn’t there?

“Is it because you took those when we were helping Morgan?” It’s like he could read my mind.

“Yeah. I mean, I had pre-existing problems, but that was the trigger this time,” I stated sadly.

“Pre-existing?”

“Yeah. Being young on the streets means people think you are vulnerable and super easy to manipulate. I wasn’t, which pissed a lot of people off but it was also why I was so good at what I did. Those who wanted to control me like the rest of the easily manipulated newbies took to drugging me. When I was in the gang, too, I had a lot of drugs shoved my way. For a period of time, I worked so hard to fight the effects. I tried to resist taking them and I did my best to stay clear headed, even when they continued upping the doses. That’s how I learned to resist them. Plus, after having doses that probably should have killed me, I built up quite the tolerance.”

“After that?”

“After that period of time, I gave up. I had fought it for nearly three years, every single day, and I got tired. I finally just let them drug me without resisting. They gave me so many different drugs, which is how I got good at identifying them. It turned into a mind game for me. In order to ignore everything that followed the drugging, I decided I’d pay attention to every detail of how the drug affected me. How my eyes felt, how my breathing felt, how my heart felt, even how my blood in my veins felt. And I kept note of which hallucinations came with which drug so I was better able to prepare myself and hopefully control myself during those that got really bad,” I said. It was yet another situation I detached myself from. “Why dilaudid?”

“I was forced on it when I first starated working here," he whispered. I could tell he wasn't willing to elaborate, so I decided to ask a different question.

“And you’ve been dealing with this ever since?”

“No, no. I quit a while back, but when I heard that my mom was doing worse it caused me a lot of stress. I started getting these really intense headaches and no one can figure out what’s wrong with me. On one of the last cases, a little boy almost died because I couldn’t focus, so the next time I had a headache, I tried taking dilaudid. It was the only thing I could think to do, and it helped. It reduced the pain and gave me back some semblance of focus, so I stayed on it,” he said. 

“Spencer, it’s not your fault that-”

“I know, and I know that he _didn’t_ die, but if he _had_ , it would have been my fault. I’m not willing to take that chance in the future. Other people shouldn’t have to suffer because I’m having problems.” I nodded, knowing that there was nothing I could say that would convince him otherwise. “Can I ask you a question?” 

“Sure,” I answered.

“The hallucination you were having that day, you said you’d never had it before?”

“Nope. I guess it would have to be because I’ve never taken all of those at once before.”

“Yeah, but, what was it? All Morgan told me was that you were worried about me and when I came in, all I got from you was ‘tell me that’s not real’ followed by relief.” I found it amusing that he wanted to know more about the hallucination he obviously knew was about him. I blew air out my nose in a silent laugh before my mood shifted at the memory of what I saw.

“I saw you on the ground. You had several broken bones, limbs in directions they shouldn't've been. You were bleeding … _everywhere_. I tried to remind myself that it was all just in my head but my options were to let it continue and have it end up being real, or make a fool out of myself. I wasn’t going to take any chances,” I said.

We sat there looking at each other in silence for a while, before he decided to break it.

“How is it going back there?” Spencer asked. 

“Back where?”

“To the Camelot. A lot happened there.”

“It’s fine,” I said, but even I could hear the lie in my voice.

“Wanna try that again?”

“No,” I sighed, “Don’t look at me like that.” He had those soft, puppy-dog eyes, which always compelled me to tell him things that I wouldn’t tell anyone else and he knew it. I could drown in his gaze and I would feel privileged.

“It sucks. I haven’t been able to do privates, I haven’t even been able to go into that room without my scar hurting and my head pounding. I tried it once, but immediately after, had a panic attack and threw up.”

“You’re experiencing PTSD,” he said. I looked at him, brows knit together.

“What?”

“It’s okay. It’s totally natural. You experienced something traumatic so it’d make sense that you are having trouble,” he said.

“That doesn’t make sense,” I replied, shaking my head.

“Yes it does. You-”

“No. It doesn’t make _sense._ I’ve been through plenty of things like that and worse and I didn’t even have a team of trained experts backing me up and I’m doing fine with those. What do you mean I have PTSD?” I sounded a bit bitchier than I would have liked. 

“I don’t know why you haven’t struggled with other memories. You probably dumped them or just haven’t experienced anything after the fact that would trigger those feelings,” he replied. He was speaking in his ‘Doctor Genius voice’ as I called it, sounding like a professor. 

I grunted. “Whatever the reason, it sucks and needs to get fixed fast because it’s messing with my income.”

That elicited a small laugh from him. “That’s not how it works.”

“I know. Too bad, though.”

“Too bad.”

I rolled my eyes and let out an annoyed laugh.

“What is it?”

“It’s just that my life is a disaster,” I answered, running my fingers through my hair. 

“That’s not true-”

“Oh please. Your body’s in better shape than my life,” I gave him a sarcastic smile. I think we were both still a little high from the hours prior. I know I was.

He pressed his lips together, but I saw the corners tilt up just slightly. Once he could fully compose himself, he said. “That’s not funny.”

I pinched my fingers together and held them up to his face. I squinched up my nose. “Just a teeny bit?”

He quirked his mouth over to one side and squinted his eyes at me. 

“No?” I asked. He shook his head. “You know it was only a joke.”

“I know,” he said with a small lip-smile

“I think you have a great body,” I said, still grinning.

“Don’t tease me.”

“I’m not! I mean it!” I lightly wacked his bicep. He gave me a knowing look on the verge of a smirk. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything!” he defended.

“You thought it.” I argued. 

“Oh so you can read minds now?”

“No, just your pretty face.” 

He finally let that full smile breach the surface, a light pink color dusting his cheeks. “You really just complimented my scarecrow figure.”

“I did,” I confirmed unabashed, nodding my head profusely. We both suddenly burst into a laughing fit, one that could have easily been considered my ab workout for the day. By the end, I was clutching my stomach and wiping the tears streaming down my face. When we both reached planet Earth again, we just peered into each other's eyes.

I suddenly felt exposed, like he was analyzing the contents of my mind and soul. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said, breaking eye contact.

“No, seriously. What?” My voice was calm and inviting, a tone that seemed to be reserved only for him and any of the victims we talked to. 

“Are we going to talk about what happened earlier?”

“You mean the kiss?” I felt delirious and just let the words roll off my tongue. 

“Yeah.”

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“I don’t want to talk,” he said, wetting his lips. His voice got deeper again and I was hoping that I was reading the signs correctly. 

“You don’t?” I inquired.

“No, not really.”

I playfully inched forward on the couch and in a sultry tone asked, “Then what do you want to do?”

He placed his long fingers on my neck, brushing his thumbs over my jaw. “This.”

He feverishly pressed his lips to mine and I quickly moved from my crossed-leg position onto my knees. I put my one hand on his back and the other on his neck. He was still sitting, so I had the vantage point. I leaned over him, slightly tilting his head back so that we didn’t have to part. He extended his legs the length of the couch, sliding them in between my own, anticipating what was coming next. His hands still cupping my face, he slowly laid back, bringing me with him. My hair fell like a curtain around our faces, creating a sacred space just for us. His tongue asked permission to deepen the kiss, and I granted it without hesitation. I brought my one hand from his back into his hair, using my thumb to rub gentle circles into his temple while the other stayed firmly planted in its place at the back of his neck. I felt his muscles give out a little, and I smiled into our kiss knowing that he trusted me to support his head, and I did so like my life depended on it. This time, it was me who had to come up for air. His eyes fluttered open as I gently laid his head down on the cushion underneath it. I swung my leg over his body so I was no longer straddling him, and cozied up next to him. 

He was studying my face. “What-”

“Shh,” I said, before he could get anything else out. I placed my thumb on his lips, tracing over them. “Let’s just get some sleep.”

He looked down at me as I rested my head on his chest. His look of slight confusion turned to one of adoration. I couldn’t remember the last time, the last _person_ , who looked at me like that and it made me feel all warm. I curled into him, wrapping my arm around him. In turn, he brought his own arm around me, settling it on my waist. His breathing steadied and the next time I looked up at him, he was asleep. Spencer’s face looked peaceful, making him look more beautiful than ever. I smiled to myself, finding comfort in the constant rise and fall of his chest, sleep dragging me under to the soothing sound of his heartbeat.


End file.
